


The Kirkwall Definition of Victory

by Artemis1000



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, F/F, Lovers To Enemies, trainwreck relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-27 17:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20952479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: With one week left in Athenril's service, she was wringing all she could out of Hawke, never mind the cautious romance that had flourished between them. This was not going to have a happy ending but somehow Hawke still found herself trying to cling to something on the verge of being lost.





	The Kirkwall Definition of Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [templaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templaris/gifts).

They had been good for a while.

Hawke still liked to think back on the first time she had met Athenril in the Gallows, nearly a year ago. She had not promised her anything she couldn’t keep, she had made no false pretenses of benevolence.

All of that had come later, when they had been good for another.

“Another job?” she asked when Athenril told her to be at the docks at midnight, while the sweat was still cooling on their skin. The pleasant fuzziness of her afterglow faded and she felt keenly aware all over again of her exhaustion and the constant ache of too many bruises that didn’t have the time to heal before new bruises were piled on top of them. A new job was always what it came down to when Athenril told her she had need of her. It used to mean something far more personal half the time but that felt nearly as far away now as their first meeting in the Gallows.

“Is that a problem?” Athenril asked back. Lying next to Hawke, she looked distinctly bored. There was no bite to her voice. There didn’t need to be.

Hawke’s frown grew into a scowl. “I know the deal,” she said, starting to sit up. Yes, she meant. “You have reminded me of it often enough.”

Athenril shot her a pointed look. “Good.”

Hawke sank back into the mattress with an annoyed huff, squeezing her eyes shut. It wasn’t lumpy and smelling of moldy old straw like Hawke’s. Athenril had done well for herself. For a while in the past months, Hawke had started to think of it as them doing well for themselves.

“Don’t pout, Marian.” She didn’t need to look at her to hear the eye-roll.

Hawke opened one eye and squinted at Athenril. “Right. Maker forbid anyone ruins your good time,” she muttered sourly.

Athenril rolled her eyes. “Maker forbid I ask you to keep your end of the deal after I kept mine.”

Hawke pushed down the irritation bubbling up and sat up, wearing a grin that didn’t quite feel like it fit her face. “As fun as this has been, I’ve got things to do. Things that aren’t you. You’re _stuff_ to do, not things.”

“Just be on time for the job.”

She opened her mouth for a snarky quip but snapped it shut again. No, actually, she didn’t even care for having the last word right now; she just wanted to get out of here.

Hawke changed her mind right by the door, going for a parting quip that fell tragically short of being funny even to her. It seemed strangely fitting for how things had been going lately. She was constantly disappointing herself when it came to Athenril.

She did the job and came away with burns, Carver with a broken arm. Athenril paid to have them patched up and sent Carver on his way while Marian chose to stay; as if Athenril were still giving her reason to.

Marian stood face to face with her as the first rays of a red dawn bathed the hidden dock of the abandoned warehouse in a soft pink light that could have been romantic under different circumstances.

“One week left,” Marian reminded her, careful to keep her face stony. Athenril sniffed out weakness like nothing else. “Then I’m gone.”

Athenril crossed her arms over her chest, face as stony as hers. “Don’t sound so heartbroken.”

“Trust me. I’m not.” She looked at her now and wondered how she had ever looked at her and seen more. She was still beautiful, all deceptively delicate elven grace and beautiful lethality. Marian still wanted her. She just… She had learned better, maybe.

Athenril looked away first this time, maybe the first time ever. “So,” she said, voice all business now. “I gather you won’t stay on.”

Marian gaped. Not even the quips would come to her anymore. “No!” she finally blurted out, far too honest, too aghast, too hurt. Giving Athenril too much weakness to work with but unable to stop herself. “Of course not!” She forced a sharp smile she didn’t feel. “Sorry, darling, worked to death doesn’t do it for me unless I got worked over by you.”

It was strange, the elf had such a presence to her that Marian had never thought of her as smaller or slighter but now she looked the part. She was frowning. “But you said...”

“That was before you tried to work us to death!” Marian tried to remember what she had said in heated moments and in the rarer tender ones. Maybe she had made promises. She steeled herself against the pangs of guilt mixed with hope flaring in her. It didn’t matter. Athenril had broken her promises first.

As if on cue, Athenril’s face turned pinched. “That’s how the business goes. It’s not my problem if you don’t understand that.”

“It’s not how you and I go!” It’s now how she had thought they worked, anyway

“Business has to come first,” Athenril insisted, stony again. She edged closer to Marian, nearly but not quite crossing the distance between them. “I’ve fought too hard and come too far to be seen as weak now.” She gave a minute sigh. “I can’t be seen treating you differently.”

It would have been easy to give in. There was a part of Hawke that wanted to, even now. She gritted her teeth against that stupid romantic urge and lifted her chin. “You can’t or don’t want to?”

Athenril turned away from her, hands crossed behind her back. She started pacing the abandoned dock, her steps short and fast and angry. “This is pointless. Your choice has been made.”

“It has,” Hawke agreed, though she found herself wondering. If Athenril truly promised to change, if she acted like the woman Hawke had first been charmed by… Hawke had always been prone to reckless decisions. Or as she preferred to think, she could never resist a gamble.

“Then why are you still here?” Athenril demanded, placing herself right in front of Hawke. Her voice was finally turning as sharp and angry as her body language had been already.

Athenril was short and slender – deceptive frailty, as Hawke well knew. Many had paid with their lives for underestimating her. It wasn’t a mistake Hawke was planning to repeat. She kept an eye on Athenril’s hands, just in case she decided to go for her daggers. Yet Marian Hawke wasn’t one to back down either.

“I thought you wanted me to stay,” she goaded, “now you want me to leave? Just say the word and I’ll be gone.” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Just like that.”

Athenril growled, hands moving –not for her daggers but rather for Hawke’s shoulders. She grabbed her by them, yanking her down to bring them to eye level. Her fingers dug in hard enough to leave more bruises. “Don’t be funny with me, Hawke.”

Hawke’s infuriating smirk didn’t waver. “Sorry. Can’t do. I’m a _riot_.” She met Athenril’s furious eyes and blew her a kiss. “It’s all part of the charm.”

The elf growled and somehow found the strength to grip her even harder. Hawke found herself pushed back, she stumbled until her back hit something hard. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed it to be a tower of haphazardly stacked crates.

“Careful there, you don’t want to damage the goods.”

“Screw the goods!”

They glared at another; Athenril was wearing a forbidding scowl which would have most everyone in her organization cowering. Hawke, who was most unlike other people, clung to her cocky smirk.

“You are _infuriating_,” Athenril ground out between clenched teeth; it was the kind of growl that never failed to leave Hawke flushed and aching for more than words. It had her remembering all too many times that Athenril had showed this very intensity when her head was buried between Hawke’s thighs. Before she could get distracted by her memories, these gritted teeth were smashing into Hawke’s lips, they were biting and laying a claim and most of all, proving a point.

Hawke just wasn’t sure anymore what that point was. She’d thought she had it all figured out, had _them_ all figured out. Turned out she didn’t know a thing about Athenril – yet again. She kissed her back anyway, meeting her heat with her own, unwilling to give any ground as they tore into another. She ran her hands through Athenril’s short hair and yanked, keeping her exactly where she wanted her. Athenril growled her approval and bit down on her tongue.

Athenril had first kissed her in a place not unlike this one, pinned against another stack of crates. Hawke had been torn between caution and desire then. Now she knew that she couldn’t trust Athenril but she knew just as well that she still wanted her. She had learned a lot since then about conflicting desires.

Her teeth scraped over Hawke’s bottom lip; Athenril pulled away only to size her up with a challenging look, her own eyes dark and hungry and so very pleased. “You look out of breath, Marian,” she noted. Now it was her turn to smirk in certain superiority. “Cat got your tongue?”

Hawke narrowed her eyes at her. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” Athenril stepped even closer, bringing their bodies flush against another. She slipped a leg between Hawke’s and leaned forward, pinning her with all her weight against the crates. Athenril trailed a finger over the curve of her bottom lip. Her eyes drooped. “You don’t,” she whispered, so very close again. Their noses were brushing. “You don’t. And _that_ is what you hate.”

For once, ever witty Hawke had nothing to say.

Athenril filled the silence for her with another bruising kiss and that finally snapped Hawke out of her stupor.

She yanked at the fastenings holding the elf’s armor closed, making quick work of them with experience. Neither of them paid attention to the pieces of her armor hitting the ground, leaving Athenril in a breastband and her tight trousers. Her fingers mapped the familiar pattern of scars Kirkwall’s underworld had left on Athenril’s body, scars which Hawke had caressed and kissed more times than she could count. It was an achingly familiar sound Athenril made when she released her breasts from the wrapping and the cold night air hit her nipples. An all too sweet sound she made when Hawke’s nails scraped over the hardened buds – and all too sweet laugh when she retaliated by biting down hard on Hawke’s neck, and Hawke whimpered against her.

“Admit it. You still like what you see,” Athenril breathed into her ear, triumphantly smug, and nipped on her earlobe far too hard to call it a mere nip. “You want to touch me. You want to taste me. _You want me_.”

And unspoken, Hawke heard, _you know you can’t walk away from me_. There was no way she would admit it, not even now and here as she, still fully dressed and achingly wet, sank to her knees before Athenril and yanked down her leggings – but there was a part of Hawke which suspected Athenril might be right both with what she said and what she didn’t say.

Hawke took her own victory when she slipped a finger between Athenril’s silky folds and found her just as sopping wet as she herself was. She took her victory in Athenril’s legs wobbling, in her letting herself get nudged until she was the one pinned against the crates. She took it in the stifled whimpers she made when Hawke mouthed over her clit, refusing to give her more than the slightest teasing touch. She delighted even in the punishing grip when Athenril grabbed her hair and forced her mouth against her core. She laughed when she finally deigned to dart out her tongue and she definitely took her victory in the broken, whimpering sound Athenril made.

Athenril tasted of musk and sweat from the battle they had been in tonight. She still made the sweetest little noises when Hawke dipped two fingers into her. Her body bowed, curling over Hawke as if she wished to surround her, wrap herself around her. Or maybe her legs were just betraying her again. Hawke’s eyes fell shut as she gave herself wholly to desire, let herself be guided by nothing but the sounds of Athenril’s pleasure and the little demanding yanks on her hair.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some friction of her own against her leggings, desperately wanting to reach down, to slip a hand between her own legs and bring herself off. She withstood the urge. This was all about Athenril. About proving a point to her, even if Hawke didn’t quite remember the point she had been trying to make.

Obscene wet sounds accompanied the movement of her fingers pumping in and out of Athenril’s cunt and she gave her clit another languorous, hard lick before slipping lower, her tongue thrusting into her while sodding wet fingers rubbed circles over her clit. Athenril whined and whimpered over her, shaking as she was brought to the brink only for Hawke to slow down until her trembling had eased.

This was power, too, she thought.

Athenril was cursing her and she no longer sounded quite so in control or fearsome.

The licks with which Hawke finally brought Athenril over the edge were almost lazy. She was so wound up all Hawke had to do was keep it up and not stop, to slowly drag her over the brink and keep licking into her as she shook apart for her.

Her lips and chin were wet with Athenril’s slick when she finally pulled her face away, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. She looked up, a lazy smirk on her lips, and brought her wet fingers to her lips to lick them off.

“What was that you were saying about my tongue?” she drawled.

Athenril’s face was flushed, her eyes incredibly wide even for an elf’s. “You…” She fought to catch her breath, then seemed to give up on that and just yanked up her trousers, the scowl already returning to her face. Combined with her red face, it only made her look all the more embarrassed to Marian’s eyes.

“Me?” It was too bad she had always found Athenril so irresistibly charming when she was flustered. It was also too bad that it keenly reminded Hawke of her own unattended need. She shifted, again trying to find some friction where there was none to be found in her crouching position. “Why don’t you get down here and try that again?”

Although still flushed, Athenril’s face hardened. “That was cute, but it doesn’t change a thing.”

Hawke blinked. “What?”

Athenril leaned down to pick up her armor. The breastband she ignored. “You have just proven my point, Marian.”

Still crouching on the dirty concrete of the warehouse, aching with a need that had yet to be seen to and Athenril’s taste on her tongue, Hawke watched in bewilderment as Athenril got dressed as brusquely if nothing had happened at all. She barely even seemed to pay attention to Hawke’s presence anymore. “Wait,” she protested, confused and distinctly feeling like she had lost control of the situation. “Aren’t you going to…?”

The elf finally looked at her again, eyes sharpening on her. “Something to keep in mind, Hawke.” Athenril finished fastening her armor, her movements rapid but calm, not even a hint of self-consciousness or leftover shakiness to them. “Nobody walks away from me. _I_ walk away.”

And then, as Marian was still crouching there on the ground, Athenril did exactly that.

Suddenly, Marian’s victory didn’t feel like one at all anymore. It rather felt like she had been played – or played herself, more like it, which would be just the thing to happen to you in Kirkwall.

The next day, a runner delivered a message to Marian and Carver Hawke. There was a new job awaiting them, this very night.

Hawke understood: They only owed Athenril one more week of service and she would see it well used.


End file.
